To be honest, I was very nervous about the previous chapter, because I feared that maybe the whole gaming thing was too elaborate and boring and that the awkward sex wouldn't work [because, you know, it kind of should... ;) ]. So, the love you sent my way was more than amazing. It also helped me through some very, very busy weeks and I can't thank you enough.
To be honest again, I'm pretty excited about posting this chapter—so I just hope that won't backfire. ;)
Shout out to my vacationing unicorn Albiona. Thank you for making sure this chapter got to me before you left. You are awesome!
Love, Jules.
So, that happened….
Waking up in a bed not her own wasn't foreign to Felicity Smoak. That was a sad truth she wasn't too proud of. But that also held different meanings. There was the obvious waking up next to a stranger with a hammering in her head, and the burning question where her shoes were, and a foul taste in her mouth (literally a bad taste; figuratively speaking Fe Smoak had rarely regretted her actions). During her years away from Starling (the ones she usually summed up as her 'island time' despite the off-island episodes), she had woken up in worse places than a strange bed. There had been cages, cells, trunks, a cave, a bunker, a butcher's shop, and an ice-cream truck (that had been the worst, actually).
Luckily, all of that was in the past.
Today was the first post-island morning Felicity woke up in a bed that wasn't her own. It also was the first post-island day she started with a smile.
The sun creeping through the gap between the curtains revealed, in Felicity's opinion, the best sight she could ever wake up to: Oliver.
He was sleeping. His face was completely relaxed, peaceful even. His hand tucked under his pillow, he rested on his side, towering over Felicity as she lay on her back next to him. The amount of light entering the room told Felicity that it was past six. The digital clock on the nightstand next to her told her she was right. Its red numbers read 6:26. Felicity hadn't slept this long in years. She hadn't felt this rested, happy, and content in years.
Rolling to her side, she scooted closer to Oliver, careful not to wake him, ignoring the urge to run her fingers down his nose, along his stubble-covered jaw, over his eyebrows that weren't exactly bushy but thick. Instead, she let her eyes trail over his face, drinking him in: the tiny wrinkles around his eyes telling tales of laughter, that tiny patch of thicker and darker hair in the midst of his blonde stubble, the crook in the bridge of his nose.
Oliver had been so tense last night. She had recognized the way he held himself and his more labored breathing. Twice had she seen him like that: sitting in a movie theater being the center of attention and walking toward a black limo in a tux to go to a fundraiser. Both times he had been faced with her official self, with the woman people saw in her or remembered her as. Last night, his tension had forced an especially strong pang through Felicity, because she had a very good idea where his head had gone. And she hated it. The idea of Oliver comparing numbers and sexual experience, of him thinking of her pre-island self, wasn't exactly a turn-on.
Their first time together hadn't been a 'get it over with' situation… but close. Felicity had sensed that Oliver couldn't relax just yet. He was way too much in his own head and only doing it (literally) would take some pressure off (literally and metaphorically).
Last night hadn't been the most mind-blowing sex of Felicity's life. It hadn't been all passion and ripped off clothes and sure hands—and he had such great hands. (She might have imagined it like that. A little bit. A few times. Okay, many a few more times. Whatever.) But despite that, to her it had been perfect for what it was. It had been searching and insecure at times, but it had also been real and good and loving. Hearing her name fall from his lips in a gasp of desire, his voice cracking on the last syllable, had been amazing. It had been everything. Because it was her real name, all four syllables, not some shortened version she didn't like, not some curse or—worse—a 'baby.' Oliver was with her, knowing her, wanting her, seeing her. It had been that moment that her vision had whitened, because of what she felt for him and what he gave to her, what they were and could be and hopefully would be. It was a memorable first time, definitely. She could never have imagined it like that.
A shrill beeping ripped her out of her thoughts. Falling to her back, she looked at the clock. It was 6:30 and, apparently, time for Oliver to get up. His alarm was the most annoying high-pitched sound, but it didn't seem to rattle him in the slightest. He still lay there, sleeping. Wow, her boyfriend was a deep sleeper. Felicity envied him a little. She was all too aware of the dangers that came from unconsciousness.
Deciding there were better ways to get woken up, she pressed the button on top of the clock and silenced the alarm. Turning back to Oliver, she finally dared to do what she had only thought of before: run her fingers over his forehead, following his brow, his nose. He started to stir when her fingers traced his lips. She knew he was almost fully awake by the time she traced his jaw. "Good morning," she whispered. "Time to get up."
"Mor'ing," he answered, his tongue heavy. He opened his eyes the barest bit, glancing at her through tiny slits, studying her for a moment. Pulling his hand from under his pillow, he brought it to her face.
Silently, resting on their sides, they took each other in. Felicity knew that he needed a moment to come to and she gave it to him, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere in the room that grew steadily lighter as the sun rose outside.
"So," Oliver finally said, his voice hoarse, "that happened."
"I'm glad it did."
"Me, too." A sparkle flared in his eyes. He gently moved his hand through her hair, brushing it back. "We'll practice. I heard that makes perfect."
She bit back a smirk. "I thought we had a pretty good start—and finish."
He inhaled soundly, nodding. "Yeah," he breathed. "I'm sorry for the middle. I got a little in my head."
He felt the need to apologize. Felicity hated that. She also hated what he had most likely gotten in his head about. She hesitated for a second before daring to speak. "I know," she said timidly, "that I have... a reputation. And it's not exactly wrong. I've been... I don't want to say slutty, because women should be able to have sex without being labeled, but, sadly, I feel like the label fits my past. And I need you to know this is different."
He gawked at her.
Felicity felt her face get warm. Was she blushing? When was the last time she had blushed? About sex. Had she never done that? Sudden, unfamiliar awkwardness continued to move her tongue. "I mean, you and me, we're different. Our relationship. And—"
"Felicity." His calm way of saying her name shut her up instantly. "I know." His eyes rested on her and the understanding she saw in them soothed her. The shared ease lasted a few heartbeats. Within the blink of an eye it was as if the awkwardness had jumped from her to him. "I wasn't..." he started and cleared his throat. "It wasn't about you. It was about me. Because I've only had... a few girlfriends. And I don't think you were a slut, but I know you're more experienced than I am and... I wanted it to be a good experience for you."
Now it was Felicity gawking. He didn't think of her shortcomings. He thought that he was the one who'd fallen short, not been good enough. She stared up at him, stunned but also angry with herself for not figuring it before, that she had made him spell it out for her.
"Oliver, you're an idiot." The words left her lips before she could stop them. She hurried to soften them. "But you're my idiot, so that's okay." She saw a spark in his eyes that made her cup his cheek with her hand. "You're special. You're the first man I'm sharing something like this with. I'm experiencing a lot of new things with you and they are all good. Right now there aren't many people out there who know the real me. And nobody knows me as well as you do. And all I want is the real you."
Pressing his lips together, he nodded, a thankful air clouding around him. Right in that second, Felicity vowed to never stop telling him that he was everything she wanted, that he was more than good enough for her in every way, that he was a better man than she deserved.
He bent down to peck her (she was grateful for the chaste connection, because, wow, double morning breath) when the alarm sounded again. Oliver reached over her and ticked a tiny lever on the side of the clock.
Felicity looked up at him. "Time to go to work?"
"No," he said. "I have another hour. How about breakfast?"
"An hour? Why did you set the alarm this early?"
"Normally, I go to the gym in the mornings, but I'll skip that today to show off my perfect coffee-making and egg-scrambling skills."
"You…." Felicity couldn't believe what she was hearing. She had noticed that he'd lost weight, sure, but she hadn't known it had been so… deliberate. "You go to the gym. Since when?"
"A few months back. I figured since I couldn't get out of the membership I might as well use it."
"So, you're, what…? Lifting weights?"
"Cardio on the rowing machine." Seeing the doubt on her face, he admitted with a sigh, "And, yeah, I started light weightlifting a few weeks back."
"Why?"
"What?"
"Why are you going to the gym?"
"To get fit."
"You don't have to get fit because of me."
"Not everything I do is because of you. We weren't even together when I started exercising."
"Then, why didn't you tell me?"
"Felicity," he started to sound annoyed. "What's wrong with getting in better shape?"
"Nothing. Everything."
He frowned at her.
"What we just talked about with you getting in your own head and..." She sighed, starting anew, "I know people say mean things. And I don't want you to feel like you have to change anything about yourself—for me. Because you don't have to. I'm into you."
He smirked. "You're into me."
"Very much. I mean I let you into me." She groaned, falling to her back, her hands covering her face, muttering into her palms, "I'm so lucky you're into me, too."
He chuckled. "I am." He kissed her naked shoulder and spoke against her skin. "Very much." He added another kiss before gently wrapping his hand around her wrist, revealing her face to him. "I started going to the gym because of… what you think. But I'm still going because I like it. I like walking up stairs without puffing and I like that my shirts don't stretch around my stomach anymore. It stopped being about other people."
"You promise?"
"I promise."
"Okay. Good." She cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, but…." She swallowed, continuing more quietly, "It's like the outside and the past crashed into our bubble."
"We have a bubble?"
"We do. I love our bubble. It's just you and me in here and we're us. But it kinda burst last night. And this morning, too."
"Yeah," he admitted, avoiding eye-contact.
"It's okay," she decided for the both of them. "We'll just let all of that go and add sex to our bubble."
A smirk slowly crept on his face. "Okay."
"Good. Then that's settled, too. Now. I believe I was promised breakfast before I start my walk of shame."
"Is it a walk of shame if you leave your boyfriend's place?"
"Since I'm not ashamed of anything that happened here last night—including successfully fighting a clan war—I'd say, no, it isn't." She motioned to the door. "Time to scramble some eggs."
He set a peck on her mouth. "Yes, ma'am."
Apparently, lunch held more dangers than Felicity knew.
That, or fashion had changed drastically while she was missing from the trendsetting scene and protective gear was all the rage nowadays.
Those were the only two reasons Felicity could come up with why her mother presented a helmet to her, gushing with a smile, "Isn't it cute?"
Felicity hadn't even entered Donna Smoak-Lance's office. The handle of the glass door against her palm, she froze on the threshold, taking in her giddy mother. Zooming in on the helmet, she decided that the definition 'cute' might work; it was one of those scooter helmets without a visor. Plus, it was bright pink. "It is," she finally answered and stepped into the room, the glass door falling shut behind her. "What do you need a cute helmet for?"
"Sweetie," Donna said, setting the helmet down on her desk—on her keyboard, Felicity noticed but forgot to comment on it when her mother continued, "to ride with you on your bike, of course."
"What?" Her eyes snapped to the other woman. "Why would you want to do that?"
"I can hardly ask my driver to take me to your secret lair, can I?" The sentence left Donna's lips as if it were the most obvious and logical thing ever. Tipping her head slightly, she studied her daughter, "You do have a secret lair, don't you?"
Felicity blinked, stunned. "I..." Her grip tightening on the bag filled with Italian food. She glanced through the glass wall and found Gerry at his desk, talking to somebody on the phone. She placed her attention back on her mother. "I do."
"I want you to take me there."
"On my bike?"
"Yes. For secrecy's sake."
"Right, because Donna Smoak-Lance riding on a motorbike in a tight pencil skirt, wearing a bright pink helmet won't draw any attention."
For a few seconds the Smoak women stared at each other—until Felicity sighed and gestured toward the desk. "Please, take the helmet off the keyboard."
Donna snatched the thing up and set it down on the glass with more force than necessary. Her heels clicked on the floor as she stomped around the desk. "Felicity Megan Smoak, I don't care if we go by bike or taxi or if you teleport me there, but tonight you will pick me up from work and take me to your hideout."
"Mom—"
"No!" An accusing index finger pointed at Felicity. "You said you were done with all those secrets. Now it's time you live up to your word."
Felicity inhaled measuredly, audibly, fighting down the 'NO' threatening to burst past her lips. She didn't want to take her mother to the Factory. She didn't want her mother near her weaponry, her training spot, around all that both represented. She didn't want to let her mother into that space of her life. Yet she knew Donna had a point: Felicity had promised to tell the truth, to answer all questions, to stop lying. She had hurt her mother by admitting that she could have come home sooner, that she chose to let her mother believe she was dead longer than necessary, by not letting her in on her secret immediately.
The simple truth was, if Felicity wanted to make up for that, she had to let her mother in further than she had originally intended.
Felicity swallowed heavily, forcing the objection down. "Okay."
"Good." Donna sent her a satisfied glance and took the bag of takeout from her. "I'm glad you came around before the food turned cold. I was prepared to see this through to the end, no matter how long it took." She walked toward the sitting area. "I'm guessing Quentin will have a harder time convincing Sara."
A huff left Felicity's lips before she could stop it. She sat down opposite her mother. "Yeah, I guess that's a safe bet."
Amusement and annoyance battled within Felicity. Her mother's giddy excitement made Felicity want to both hug and shake her.
Making a show of it, Donna Smoak-Lance took off the black helmet Felicity had given her (because, seriously, pink was way too recognizable and attention-grabbing) and shook out her blonde locks. It was a slow-motion moment in real time and her mother was doing it on purpose. Donna positioned the helmet next to her waist, taking the clichéd biker-stance, and smirked. "That was exciting!"
Her giddiness was kind of adorable, but Felicity couldn't help but feel like her mother wasn't taking any of this seriously. This wasn't some field trip! What lay underneath this building wasn't a game, some exciting funhouse to visit. This was the place to prepare for battle and get in the right headspace for confronting those harming the city and its people.
Overexcitement had no place in the Factory.
"You were right," Donna stated, oblivious to her daughter's thoughts, and brushed her hand over the jeans Felicity made her change into. "This is one of the moments a pencil shirt doesn't work." She winked. "A sentence I never thought I'd say. I think I need a leather jacket."
Felicity groaned, but kept from saying anything else. She simply swung her own jeans-covered leg over the bike and took off her helmet, revealing her hair pulled back in a low ponytail and tucked into the collar of her jacket.
"I want you to teach me how to drive a bike."
"Okay, one," Felicity said, indicating for her mother to follow her as she started walking down the alley next to the Factory, "you don't drive a bike, you ride a bike. And two: the answer is no!"
"I second that second answer." Quentin Lance said rounding the corner, an unhappy-looking Sara by his side. "Those things are death traps on two wheels."
"It's sexy," Donna corrected. "Imagine me on that thing with all that power, wearing—"
"Okay," Felicity cut in. She couldn't take it any more; the annoyance won. "That's enough."
Normally, she was fine with her mother's antics, with her jokes and her ability to ease tension with a flippantly spoken sentence, but none of that belonged here. She was serious about this: nothing about what lay behind the hidden door was a laughing manner, nothing that had happened behind that door was fun and games, and she needed her mother to understand that. She needed her to know that once they passed through the door, they entered Felicity's domain, her sanctuary, and she was calling the shots.
The parents looked at Felicity, stunned and taken aback.
"Now that you've all heard Felicity's Arrow voice," Sara cut into the uneasy silence, speaking up for the first time, "we should get in—or away. But crowding in front of our secret entrance isn't exactly smart. And—for the record—I don't think ether of you should go in."
"I agree," Felicity said, calmer now that the atmosphere no longer resembled a school fieldtrip. She looked at Sara, "But I made a promise." She fixed her mother. "This is my hideout," she told her, strict but not threatening, "not some amusement park." Holding her mother's gaze a second longer, she let that sink in and turned to the wall.
A few weeks back, she installed this side entrance leading from the alley directly into the Factory—going in through the empty hall had felt overly complicated. Her fingers pressed on an inconspicuous spot. A panel snapped open. Felicity started punching numbers.
And she continued punching numbers.
"Wow, that's an elaborate code," Donna mumbled.
Pressing the last button, Felicity looked at her mom, "256-bit encryption." She pulled the door open and walked in first. Her mother's heels (because she couldn't be made to wear any other footwear) clicked on the concrete, followed by Quentin's quieter and Sara's inaudible steps.
The room lay in darkness, only disturbed by the blinking of the servers and the green letters and symbols scrolling up the computer screens—signs that Oliver's programs monitoring various databases were running. With a loud 'clack,' Felicity pushed up a lever and the harsh neon lights flickered to life, revealing the Arrow's base of operations in all its bare practicability. Felicity moved to the side, her posture stiff, giving her mother and her mother's husband time to take a look.
Both instantly focused on the same thing. As if pulled by a magnetic force, they moved slowly toward the case containing the Arrow suit. The couple stared at it, then each other, then the suit again. Staying silent, they moved together to stare at the bow inside the next case.
Sara positioned herself next to Felicity, crossing her arms over her chest, sending Felicity a glare that said 'this is all your fault'.
Felicity accepted the unspoken accusation with a nod and watched the couple as they circled the room and took everything in: the work bench with the arrows Felicity had sharpened to perfection, the training mats, the wooden dummy, the weights, and basket of tennis balls. Donna Smoak-Lance frowned. "What are those for?"
"Target practice," Felicity answered.
Her mother stared at her, making it seem as if Felicity had spoken in a very foreign language. Donna motioned to her right. "And what's that?"
"Sara's favorite pastime."
Donna's eyes traveled to her stepdaughter, who answered, "It's a workout device. Core and arm strength."
Slowly Donna nodded, falling quiet again.
Quentin Lance stood next to the workbench. "You make your own arrows?"
"I do. I need to make sure they're balanced right."
"How do you know who to put them in?"
The detective's question held the air of a somewhat hostile interrogation. Felicity didn't bat an eye. "I have some insight in the local mob scene."
"How?"
"I worked for them for a year." There is was: the truth that could break the whole fragile peace between her and the police officer. He believed in the righteousness of the law and had a clear idea where to draw the line to determine who was operating outside of it. "In Hong Kong," Felicity added, putting it all out there. "I worked for the Triad before I came back."
"You—" Quentin gasped in consternation. "Well, that's just rich!" He threw his arms up in the most helpless gesture possible. "My daughter's an ex-assassin trained by a shady super-secret organization. And my stepdaughter's a Triad member. If that doesn't make me the worst cop possible, I don't know how!"
Sara's eyes were glued to the floor. Her head was bowed, creating a curtain of blonde hair, her favorite hiding technique. Felicity remained as stiff as she had when the parents had entered her hideout. She refused to back down, because they—Quentin and Donna—had wanted this. They wanted the truth, and Felicity had promised to give it to them.
Feigning confidence, she met Quentin's eyes, "The best way to take them down is with inside knowledge. I have that. I know how to do serious damage to the Triad's operations in this city—as well as the Russians'." A tremor snuck into her voice. She hated it, but couldn't help the shame, the awareness of every wrong she had committed while gaining that inside knowledge. It mixed with the longing, the need to make up for it, even if she could never make things right again. "I know I've done horrible things. I'm not a good person, but I'm doing this for the right reasons. You said my results couldn't be argued with."
"Yes," Quentin admitted, hesitantly. "I did say that. And I meant it. So," he said, snappier again, "all this is… what? Atoning for your sins?"
It sounded stupid when he said it like that, and Felicity couldn't agree. She had to phrase it differently. "It's me making a positive change in this city and the people who live here. It's me using what I can, what I'm good at for the right reasons for once."
Silence followed. Quentin and Felicity stared at each other until Sara's small voice cut through the tension. "Felicity is doing a good thing." She lifted her head, looking at the others. "She's a good force in this city. And… I like being a part of it." She met her father's eyes. "You said you'd love me no matter what I've done. Felicity didn't do worse than I did."
Her words billowed through the cold and bare room, dissolving into nothing. Again, the four people were silent.
A shutting door startled them. All four people turned toward the sound of quick footsteps, growing louder.
"Felicity, you have to hoo—" The words died on Oliver's tongue as he stepped past the stacked boxes with targets drawn on them and saw the people assembled staring at him. He froze. "Um," he swallowed heavily, "hi."
"Even he knows?!" Quentin Lance snapped, throwing his hand in Oliver's direction.
"He's our tech expert," Felicity said, calm but strong. "He's an important member of Team Arrow."
"God!" Sara groaned. "We're not calling ourselves that."
"That's what I said." Oliver visibly shook his stupor off and continued walking toward the Smoak-Lances. "Mrs. Smoak-Lance. Mr. Lance," he greeted and placed his full attention on Felicity, "I'm sorry, but this is urgent. There's a hostage situation at Starling City Central Bank. Apparently, somebody triggered an alarm and the vault locked shut and now they're threatening to kill hostages if nobody comes to reopen it."
Quentin Lance pursed his lips. "The bank has a non-negotiation policy." He reached for his cellphone. "That'll end badly."
"No," Felicity said, determined. "It won't." She met Oliver's eyes. "Try to access the security system. Get me anything you can. I'll hood up."
His three screens showed three different security feeds. It gave Oliver a very good idea what Felicity would walk into. "Three robbers in the main room, keeping the hostages in check," he informed her via com link, making sure his voice was calm and business-like. She was on the roof, getting ready to enter the bank, and he wouldn't have his own nerves unsettle her before going into battle. There wasn't any need to tell her that there was a young child in that bank, a boy who was crying heavily in the arms of a man, because that couldn't be on her mind. She also didn't need to know about the clown masks and how creepy they looked, because that would hardly rattle the Arrow. But she needed to know about what was going on in the back of the bank. "Two are by the vault, arguing." The security feed came without sound, but the high-stakes tension couldn't be missed. One of the two men in the vault kicked the huge round door.
Donna Smoak-Lance huffed, muttering, "Yeah, that'll help you, buddy."
Oliver ignored the woman (who was his formidable boss and girlfriend's intimating mother) sitting next to him in a rolling chair. "They're all carrying automatic weapons," he told Felicity, glancing at the tablet Donna Smoak-Lance held. "Handguns," he specified, studying the display. Donna Smoak-Lance pointed at one that did look like the model the robbers used. "Uzis—we think." He should be better at that, he needed to study weapons that weren't part of CoD. He'd do so first chance he got.
"Okay," Felicity's voice came out of the speakers. "Coordinate with Quentin to get the hostages out. Sara, keep your position in the back."
"Roger." Sara was all business.
"Oliver," Felicity had turned the voice modulator on. "Do it."
He kept from adding 'be safe,' even though he needed her to be, and pressed the enter key, activating the program to override the measures securing the entrance of the ventilation system. Oliver had pulled up blueprints of the bank and, since the robbers had rigged the doors with explosives, the air vents were the only way in. Why they had brought explosives and why they weren't trying them on the vault, Oliver couldn't even guess. Those clowns were probably the worst bank robbers imaginable—and that was very worrisome.
The code running over the middle one of the three screens showed him that his program had done the trick. "All clear," he said.
"I'm going in."
Donna Smoak-Lance shifted in her seat, inhaling deeply. Oliver could feel the tension coming off her. He understood. Being a passive bystander, being able to do nothing but watch from afar was nerve-wracking. Oliver cut the connection from the Factory to Felicity so she couldn't hear them. He turned to his boss. "Felicity knows what she's doing. She's got this."
"She's very bossy when she's…." Mrs. Smoak-Lance trailed off, twirling her finger at the surrounding room, referring to everything it stood for.
"She is," Oliver admitted. "She's focused. That's a good thing. We want that. It keeps her safe."
A nod was the mother's only reaction, her eyes were glued to the screen showing the posh main room of the bank, the twenty people cowering in the middle of it, the three people circling the room.
Suddenly one of the robbers doubled over. He looked like he was howling in pain, letting go of the gun, his arm rendered useless by the arrow through his forearm. The others stopped, stunned, staring, confused. The Arrow dropped right in the middle of them. Oliver knew she used a cable to secure her descent, they could hear the tell-tale singing of rope through the speakers in the Factory since Felicity's end of the com link was open, but her appearance on screen was still sudden.
Felicity's movements were elegant and precise. Oliver had seen it many times, but it was still impressive to him. She didn't just blindly attack, she made sure to direct the men away from the hostages. One pressed the trigger of his machine gun, sending bullets into a wooden counter, splinters flying again.
The loud banging echoed through the Factory. The battle sounds, the shouts and cries of the hostages, Felicity's breathing were transmitted through the com's connection. Donna Smoak-Lance gasped at the shots. Her hands clenched, holding tight, watching as Felicity jumped, slung her legs around one clown's neck, and used her entire bodyweight to slam his head against what was left of the counter. The Arrow was moving again as another volley of bullets sprayed where she had been just a heartbeat ago.
Oliver clicked his side of the com back on. "The guys from the back are coming to you."
On his screen Felicity let go of another arrow, a net wrapping itself around the shooting robber, rendering him immobile in seconds. Oliver appreciated that she did it quickly, didn't prolong the fight unnecessarily. As if hearing his thoughts, Felicity marched to the guy with the arrow sliced through his arm and knocked him out with a well-placed kick against his chin.
She turned around, facing the direction another robber approached from. She drew her bow and shot two arrows in rapid succession, entering beneath the man's shoulder blades, nailing him to the wall behind him.
"Wow," Donna Smoak-Lance breathed, but it was nearly drowned out by the deafening bang rattling the speakers.
Oliver's eyes snapped to the left screen. "The last robber blew the back door. Sara, he's coming your way." He clicked on his keyboard, switching the view to a traffic camera he had hacked ten minutes earlier. It was perfectly positioned for their needs.
"Yeah," Sara stated, calmly. "I noticed the explosion."
Oliver kept from commenting.
"Smart ass," commented Mrs. Smoak-Lance.
He bit back a smile—this wasn't the right moment for amusement—and saw Sara engage the robber. On another screen he saw the policemen positioned in front of the bank starting to move—they must have noticed the explosion, too. Luckily, Sara was as efficient as Felicity. Not even twenty seconds after the fight begun, the guy lay on the ground, unconscious.
"Sara, SCPD is heading your way. Get out."
"Roger," Sara confirmed and Oliver saw her run and jump onto a dumpster to get to the roof.
"What—" Donna Smoak-Lance started but stopped to simply point at the middle screen, showing Felicity by the doors, checking out the bombs.
"Felicity," Oliver's voice was full of warning. "SCPD is approaching. You need to get out of there."
She huffed—and Oliver knew the tales that sound told.
"I know you could disable them," he said, "but you don't have to. The way back is clear, the hostages can get out through there. Leave the bomb to SCPD."
He saw her hesitate.
Donna Smoak-Lance straightened up next to him. "Felicity Megan Smoak, listen to him! You will get out of there right now."
Oliver saw the Arrow freeze—and he was absolutely sure that, right in this second, his girlfriend was cursing herself for coming clean to her mother. With a jolt she turned around and marched toward the hostages. "Follow me," she ordered and, despite the modulator, Oliver could hear annoyance in her tone that was clearly directed at her mother. And probably at him. But mostly at her mother.
Walking past the hostages, Felicity noticed the crying boy, pulled up to his feet by the man next to him. Oliver saw the way she slowed her steps. "It's okay," she told the kid, not at all calming in her scrambled voice. "Don't cry. You're safe."
"You're the Arrow," the boy sniffled, then added as if it were a revelation, "You're a girl."
"I am. Both."
The boy nodded. "Cool."
The Arrow's mother chuckled next to Oliver and he bit back a smile. He kept his voice stern. "Felicity, get out of there."
"This way," she addressed the group and finally—finally!—led the innocents out back before aiming another cable-arrow and shooting up to the roof, away from the people she had just saved and the approaching SCPD, led by none other than Quentin Lance, yelling at his colleagues for raising their weapons and reminding them of the innocent hostages.
"All done, all good," Sara stated.
"Yes," Felicity agreed. Sounding tense. "We're on our way back." She cut the connection and Oliver knew she was pissed.
Tentatively, he turned to Mrs. Smoak-Lance and was surprised to find her smiling. "That was…." She was visibly searching for the right word. She failed just as visibly. She met Oliver's eyes. "I feel like I should be more opposed to this whole thing than I am."
"I know the feeling," Oliver admitted. "Before I knew Felicity was the Arrow, she asked me to help her break into an encrypted security fob. She wouldn't tell me what she needed the information for and it was… dubious. But I did it anyway. Because I knew Felicity's a good person with a good heart."
His girlfriend's mother took him in with a calm and serious expression, the previous smile gone. She tipped her head to the side, her blonde locks falling from her face, studying him. Her piercing stare left him uncomfortable, longing to take the previous words back. Which were probably too personal to share with his boss. He uneasily cleared his throat. "Mrs. Smoak-Lance, I—"
"Oliver," she said evenly, "we're sitting in my daughter's secret lair surrounded by weapons and other stuff I don't get. We just compared models of different handguns. I watched you hack into two security systems. And you told me my daughter has a good heart. I think it's perfectly okay for you to call me Donna."
He blinked. He swallowed. "Okay."
"Good." She got up from the seat, looking around the Factory again. "Does Felicity really hit those tennis balls?"
"She does."
"My daughter…." She reached for one of the yellow balls, weighing it in her hand. He could see her thinking, contemplating things and once more Oliver was stunned how much mother and daughter had in common.
Giving her some privacy (because staring was impolite and if his mother had drilled one thing into him, it was manners), Oliver turned back to his screens and busied himself with deleting the security tapes from the bank. He took even more time wiping the hard drive storing the feed of the traffic camera. Sara had worn a ski mask, but they didn't need the information that the Arrow worked with another woman to get out. Preserving Sara's identity was his priority. He had promised Felicity that and he knew how important it was to her.
The silence of the Factory was disturbed fifteen minutes later. Just the way Felicity ripped open the door leading to the alley gave away her state of mind. Oliver had been right: his girlfriend was pissed.
She stomped toward them and slammed the bow down onto the workbench with much less care than normal. "MOM." She ripped her hood back, revealing her dark-rimmed eyes to glare at her mother. "You can't do that!"
"Felicity," Sara's eyes were sparkling with amusement. Her hair was tousled from wearing the ski mask. "Calm down."
"No!" She stepped toward her mother, mere feet away. "When it comes to this, I'm making my own decisions. I am in charge. You don't call my name like that on the coms. You middle-named me! What if somebody had hacked the—"
She cut herself off and glanced at Oliver. He made a show of crossing his arms over his chest, because if she dared to finish that sentence, his pissed girlfriend would seriously piss off her boyfriend. Nobody hacked Oliver Queen's com signal. That thought alone was laughable—and insulting.
Felicity visibly backtracked. "When you're in the Factory, you're not my mother. I mean, you areare." Her lips pursed in annoyance, but she powered on, "But you don't get to act like it!"
"Okay."
The simple answer stunned everybody in the room—most of all Felicity. All anger (heightened by battle adrenaline) drained from her. "Okay?"
Donna pulled her daughter into a hug. She held her, saying nothing for quite a few seconds. "All of this is crazy," she finally whispered into her daughter's hair, but the bare walls of the Factory carried her voice, spreading it through the whole room. "But it works." She spoke louder. "I know you and Sara think that you're… bad people. But you're not." She let go of her daughter but kept her hands on her shoulders to glance at her stepdaughter, shuffling on her feet. "You are good people," Donna said with her no-nonsense voice, stern and serious, delivered with a no-discussion glance. "Your dad and I raised you both to be good people."
Felicity opened her mouth to object, but her mother didn't let her start. "No. You always knew right from wrong, Felicity. Even before your time away. Back then you knew what you were doing was wrong. The drugs and the men and… the carelessness. You simply didn't care. There were moments when I didn't like how you acted. I always loved you, but there were times when…. You were lost and aimless. But this…" she gestured at the leather outfit her daughter wore, "this is purpose. You care about people, finally. You cared about the little boy in the bank. I'm proud of you, Felicity, more than I ever was. More than I ever thought I could be."
Donna looked at Sara again. "Both of you are good people. With good hearts." She gave a playful smirk. "And so badass."
A chuckle fell from Felicity's lips that was genuine while it still sounded like tension being released. Her voice was heavy with emotion. "Thanks, Mom."
Donna kissed Felicity's cheek and then reached for the tennis ball she had put on the med table. She raised a challenging eyebrow.
Felicity smirked, matching the challenge. Without saying another word, she moved to get her bow and the basket filled with yellow balls. Walking toward their shooting range behind Oliver's desk, she stopped next to him, tilting her head up to him. He touched his lips to hers for a soft kiss.
"Sorry," she breathed. "I was getting ready for the arrow-ing earlier and forgot about a proper hello."
He smiled. "It's okay." And it was. He knew what she was like when she was preparing for a mission. Greeting-pecks were the farthest thing from her mind in such moments.
"Thank you for looking out for me," she said, gently.
"Hey," Donna cut in, accusatory. "Why is he looking out for you and I'm overstepping vigilante boundaries?"
"Because the Arrow can't be told off by her mommy," Sara smirked, pulling her shirt over her head. "It's not good for her rep."
"Like you're the one to talk," Felicity shot back, getting in position next to her mother. "You might be a super-secret former spy-agent-hardass, but you're also the biggest daddy's girl known to modern man."
Watching Sara position herself under the salmon ladder, seeing Felicity draw her bow to nail a tennis ball to the wall with an arrow, hearing Donna comment on the dangers of meeting in a building that should be abandoned while throwing a tennis ball to the floor, Oliver felt a sudden shift in the atmosphere. There was a different air in the midst of all the familiarity, but he found that it came with positivity. It felt strangely right. Yeah, he thought, it shouldn't work, but it kind of does.
